


Belief

by onceuponaplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponaplot/pseuds/onceuponaplot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a hunt gone bad and Dean Winchester finds no one to blame but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr.

Exhaustion fills every inch of his body. It pierces his chest, tugs his insides apart in a way that is achingly familiar. His limbs feel like lead weights as he follows Sam, steps slow, even and measured.

Left. Right. Left again.

The numbness such a pattern brings is all that Dean can ask for right now. He's tired, and all he wants to do is go back to the motel and _sleep_. This hunt has left him drained.

Sam stops, and Dean comes to rest just behind his elbow. His younger brother stands stiller than Dean's ever seen him stand, at complete attention as he stares resolutely ahead of them. Dean still hasn't found the motivation to raise his eyes from the grass at his feet.

It's a beautiful day. The sun is out, a few wispy clouds drifting lazily in the summer blue of the sky. The trees a few hundred feet away are full of vibrant green leaves in all shapes and sizes. From the thin needles of the evergreens to the wide oak leaves, a breeze waves the trees' branches and ruffles Dean's shirt.

He scrubs a single hand down his face as Sam steps forward some more, to where they placed a bottle of lighter fluid and some matches earlier in their preparations. His eyes track his brother's hands as they douse the pyre, also constructed earlier. Sam stops a few minutes later, movements unhurried and sluggish. Sam sets the bottle down, stands still.

The grass drifts back and forth around their ankles. It's rough and brittle and the yellow-brown of a lawn that's seen better days. Dean's eyes fall back to the blades in front of his boots as Sam finally grabs the matches.

The faint _snick_ as the matches are lit seems like a canon to Dean's ears. The crackle of the flames like gunfire.

Sam rejoins him and they stand side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. One huge hand lands on Dean's back as he head drops again, shoulders hunching up. Sam doesn't do anything else, but the simple touch is grounding and Dean uses it to focus himself.

The stink of burning clothes and flesh fill Dean's nostrils and his eyes flit up for a split second. It's enough to see a flash of tan where the coat is folded before it curls and blackens in the flames.

Dean's gut feels like ice and he looks down again.

This happened because of him.

If he hadn't insisted on taking this case. If he had paid a little more attention. If he had been just _that_ much faster…

Cas wouldn't have been in the line of fire.

Cas would be sitting in the Impala, grinning right along with Sam and Dean as they drove into the unknown, battered and a little worse for wear but alive.

Cas' body wouldn't be wrapped in linen, burning in a hunter's funeral while the ashen outline of his wings still litters the nearby warehouse's floor.

Dean sags, and Sam's right there to grab hold of his arm and hold him upright, to lead him to the parking lot and sit him in the backseat of the Impala. Dean sinks into the leather seats, throws an arm across his eyes and shuts down.

It's no wonder the bad follows him like a plague; Dean destroys everything he touches. He always has, right from the day he was four years old up to the present and the realization drives another stake through his chest.

Dean Winchester doesn't notice as his brother slides into the front seat and drives them away from a fallen angel's funeral. He doesn't notice as day slips into night and the stars come out to play, their reflections dancing and shimmering through the glass of the windows. He's too wrapped up in his memories and guilts and ' _what if?_ 's.

Sam depended on him, and Dean let him get killed. John depended on him, and he died because of Dean. He couldn't protect Bobby, and he couldn't protect Lisa, or Ben, or anyone else he's ever remotely cared about.

Cas depended on him and Dean didn't have his back.

This is all his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

The building that he walks through is old. The drywall is cracked, paint peeling off in chips and littering the halls like snow. As he stops to investigate a large indent in one of the walls, the already low lights flicker and dim further.

The air is musty and thick as he ventures further into the building. Beams and walls groan quietly every now and then, and his ears are pricked for any sounds that the monster he's hunting may make.

It's only a few minutes more until he reaches a cavernous room. Cluttered machinery and equipment fills the space, blocking some areas for his sight, but he sees what he needs to.

Bodies hang in neat rows, chained to the ceiling by their restrained hands, arms pulled taught above their heads. He hurries over, bypassing the unfamiliar faces as he searches for- There.

He rushes forward, senses still on alert as he gets closer and closer to Sam's limp form. The taller hunter is unconscious but groans quietly when jostled.

Something behind him snaps, and he turns just in time to see the djinn barrel towards him.

* * *

Dean wakes from the nightmare with a start, heart pounding and eyes straining to see something in the dark. He turns his head and it takes him a minute to read the glowing numbers on the clock as 2:47 A.M. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and over his eyes.

He hasn't slept well since Castiel's death. Hasn't eaten well. Hasn't functioned well, really, if Sam's constant worrying and nagging is anything to judge by.

Dean doesn't have an explanation that satisfies his brother. Sam doesn't understand why Dean whirls at any sound that resembles wings in the vain hope that some higher power has decided Castiel is worth saving again. Sam doesn't understand that Dean's whole world feels like it's devoid of color. Sam doesn't understand that everything seems as thin as paper to Dean. He would almost think that he was paper, too, if it weren't for the gaping hole inside him that proved he wasn't.

He lies in bed and stares at the moonlight filtering through the cracks where the motel curtains don't quite meet. Sam's breathing is the loudest thing in the room right now, punctuated by tiny snorts and sighs. Dean listens as a car drives by, sound dulled by walls and distance.

Several minutes later, another car drives by. This one pulls into the motel, and its lights join the moonlight in the cracks between the curtains, illuminating the room even more.

With nothing else to do, Dean goes back to sleep.

Hopefully the nightmares will give him a reprieve for these last few hours.

He doubts they will.

* * *

Castiel's eyes, big and blue and intensely focused, stare into Dean's, and they look even more realistic than normal. They're not yet dulled, dimmed by the immense weight of death. They shine and sparkle and look so _alive_ that Dean almost forgets it's a dream.

Then he speaks.

"Dean," he says, and Dean hasn't heard that voice in weeks, _months_ , even in sleep. He almost aches with how good it feels to hear Castiel again. "You're okay," Castiel sighs, and he sounds so relieved even though Dean doesn't know why. Castiel is the one who died. Dean should be the one who's relieved. But he doesn't say anything, because he fears that if he does, it will all go away. He's had so many dreams where Castiel's lifeless eyes stare blankly into nothing, accusing him, blaming him for all he's done. Dean wants to savor this.

Castiel smiles and it's like Dean's whole world has come back into vibrant, high-definition color. His eyes spot blood, red and trickling at a sluggish pace, and several scratches and darkening bruises on Castiel's face.

"Ca…s," he tries to ask, but his throat feels like it's been sandpapered and left out to dry in the Sahara.

"I'm fine," Castiel soothes. Dean believes him and just stares as the dream moves, reaches above Dean's head for something. He notices the ache in his arms when they fall to the side and his weight drops from them, instead pushing his feet down to the floor. He almost falls on his face, but he's caught and set to rest against a solid mass.

The shoulder under his cheek is covered in a pale tan cloth, the arm wrapped around his back like iron. It hits him, then, that this may be the last chance he has to speak to Castiel, dream or not. Who knows when he'll get another chance, who knows when a dream like this where they're both alive and, though worse for wear, unharmed will come around again.

He buries his face where Castiel's neck meets his shoulder and clutches the angel to him. His hands have turned to small vices in the trench coat. Castiel's smell surrounds him, something he's never been able to describe. He's only ever gotten small, brief whiffs of it before, when Castiel stood just a bit too close or when they got knocked into each other during a hunt. It's almost like Castiel is actually here now, and Dean knows it will only make this hurt all the more when he wakes.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into Castiel's neck. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Dean," Castiel says, and another arm wraps around Dean. He feels secure, beyond safe. Nothing can harm him here.

"You were my best friend," he says, louder than before. "You're family. I can't- You're too important, Cas. I _need_ you. And I- I let you-"

"Shh." Castiel's hand pets through Dean's hair and the hunter presses closer. It's all too much. He wishes that he will never wake up, that he could live in this dream forever. Even with arms that feel like they've been burned and a throat begging for water, even with Castiel battered and bloody he'll take this over reality in a heartbeat.

"I've never known a djinn to seek revenge before," Castiel murmurs into Dean's ear. "This one worked so hard to keep you hidden from me. I thought…It got Sam, too, I thought I had lost the both of you." Castiel's arms tighten across Dean's back. "Sam says that you two have encountered a djinn before. I believe it was some sort of relation to this one. It's the only explanation I can think of for what it has done."

Dean pulls himself away enough to ask, "Can we not…not talk about this now? Please?"

"Why? Dean, you have to know-"

"I don't want it to end before I can talk to you!" Dean bursts out, interrupting Castiel. "I don't want to waste this talking about some fucking djinn. Cas, I can't do this without you. I _can't_. Sam's worried, and I guess he should be, but I just…It's all my fault, Cas. Everything, and if I hadn't- If I hadn't made us go on that hunt you'd still be _alive_ and…"

Castiel tenses and pulls away from Dean, blue eyes boring into him even as Dean reaches to try and pull the angel back. "Dean, I am alive. I'm right here," Castiel sounds confused.

 _You're only alive here,_ Dean wants to tell him. _You're not real._ But he can't bring himself to say the words, because that will make them true. He wants to pretend that this is more than some creation of his exhausted mind.

Castiel's hands move back to his shoulders and they're like clamps in the way they hold his flesh so tightly. "Dean that was not real. Whatever you saw, that was the djinn-"

"And you're just a dream," Dean snaps, suddenly angry. "You'll say anything to make me believe you're real!"

Castiel's hand snaps out so fast he barely even registers it before his jaw is held still, Castiel's face inches from his. "Dean. That. Was. Not. Real." His hand is hot on Dean's skin, and his breath smells like mint. "This is. I promise you that. Believe me. Promise me you'll believe that."

Dean nods because there's nothing else he can do, nothing he can deny Castiel after all he's done to him. Dean believes him because believing the dream is better than stopping and returning to the black and white life where Castiel is dead and Dean is little more than a shell. Dean believes Castiel when the angel leads him to Sam and the three of them work to free the djinn's other victims who can still be saved.

Dean believes Castiel when he heals the Winchester brothers, and he believes Castiel when he says they should take a week off to 'regroup and recharge.' A few months later, Dean believes Castiel when he says that he should stop living like everything could end at a moment's notice.

He believes it when Sam gives him a hug and says that he's glad to finally have his brother acting like normal again, and he believes it when Castiel tells them that he is here to stay for good. He believes it when Sam says he's not leaving him forever but that he has to have a life of his own, separate from Dean and hunting. He wishes Sam the best, and he's the tall man's best man when he gets married a few years later.

Eventually, he even believes it when Castiel tells him that this isn't a dream. Dean believes it when Castiel says that there was never a pyre. Dean believes it when Castiel says that his wings never burned their bones into the floor.

When Castiel wraps him up in arms and wings and just holds him, close and protected from anything that may try to harm Dean or make him doubt again, Dean even believes that maybe, just maybe a hunter like him can find a slice of happiness in the world for himself.


End file.
